“I watch you do that every night. Week after week. It never fails to make me hard as a rock.”

She startled, jumping awkwardly, her head in line with the toilet as she scrubbed around the base. A hand pressed upon the back of her scalp, pressing firmly downward.

“Unless you want your face in here, stay exactly as you are.”

A tone of authority, one she was helpless to disobey. She was the janitor but she could have disobeyed. Could have. But wouldn’t. Wanted to keep her job here at Wharten Enterprises. The pay was really good, much better than the fast food restaurant where she’d worked before, with the added benefit of not reeking of hot oil and stale burgers.

“Lift up your ass and spread your legs. Yes, just like that. Hands on the bowl, head down though, girl. Head down.”

The heat of humiliation burned through her. Red stained her cheeks, a combination of the odd angle and embarrassment. Hands reached up inside her skort, rubbed over her bum, poked at her anus.

“That’d feel better with lube. But fuck you’re tight. And hot. I can feel how hot your cunt is, too.”

She wanted to speak up. Of course she was hot! She’d been cleaning inside a warm building for well over an hour. What the fuck did he think happened to a human body when it was walking and scrubbing and dumping trash? It got hot. Especially those areas covered with multiple layers of fabric.

The gasp slipped out, echoed in the bowl of the toilet. His fingers were inside her. Inside her pussy. He diddled them around, like a butterfly trapped in syrup, then shoved them deep, withdrew, shoved again.

“That’s enough foreplay,” he said. She heard the distinctive pzzzzzzz of a moving zipper, the tinny clink of a belt being unhitched, the fabric hiss of that belt being removed. His pants slid to his knees with a soft whisper.

He leaned away from her, turned on the hot and cold faucets, then reached around her and flushed the toilet. The noise was deafening, and her ponytail was all but trailing in the water now.

The roiling sounds of water drowned out the first hard smack of the belt on her denim-clad bottom. She moaned.

“Silent! Another sound from you and your head goes in.”

Again the belt struck her ass; she hissed in a breath and held it tightly, letting it hiss out around her teeth with the next blow. The whimper spilled out when he hit the same spot for the third time. Her face was pushed deep into the bowl. Thankful that at least she’d cleaned it first, the shock of the cold water still filling the white porcelain made her yelp. Underwater. He shook her head in the water, the pulled her up by the ponytail.

His voice was a whispered whip of sound.

“I said silent. I meant silent. Shut the fuck up or your head will stay there until I’m done warming up your fucking ass.”

She wanted to tell him it was quite warm enough already, but he’d already warned her. She bit her lip, wincing as the belt fell across her buttocks. The denim pressed hard, the heat from the force of the strikes making her think she was not only beyond warm, her ass was on fire!

He dunked her once more before he was done beating her soundly, and she only knew he was done because he turned off the faucets. Hands tugged the crotch of the skort and her panties to one side. His cock jabbed up into her cunt. It was like an offering, she thought, her ass up in the air. She wiggled her hips, trying to move away, but his hands reached under her and grabbed fistfuls of her tits, squeezing so hard she thought her nipples would explode. It fucking hurt. Almost as much as his cock ramming up her pussy did. It was a rough, violent, taking of her body. She wasn’t a janitor or a woman or a mother or a part-time cook. She was a hole. Something to be used to slake someone’s need to fuck.

His need to fuck.

She’d seen him watching her. She understood that sort of look. Ignoring it only fueled his fantasy of using her, she knew that now. She moaned as his thrusts went full-deep into her. Pleasure warred with pain now, and she was pissed that he was turning her on, lighting up one of her fevered fantasies. How fucking dare he??

She squirted all over his legs. He laughed, called her a fucking whore, called her a greedy fuck-loving cunt. Told her she wanted to be used. Wanted to be raped. Wanted him to hurt her. His cock filled her, his jizz pumped into her as he laughed cruelly. Reaching into her kit beside the toilet, he grabbed a hunk of her rubber gloves. Wadding them up, he shoved them up into her hole.

“Keep that good sauce up there inside you while you work tonight,” he said. “It’ll remind you of the good time you had up here on the third floor. Enjoy.”

Stepping away, he pulled up his pants, threaded his belt into the loops.

“You stay there for a few minutes. Got it? Don’t want another swirly, do you girly?” He laughed at his own joke, zipping up his pants. Reaching under her again, he pinched her tits.

“Next time, I’m going to cum all over them.”

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

Shaking with wet, with the shock of the hard rude fucking, tender with the wad of gloves balled up inside her pussy, she ran her hands over her breasts, feeling the hard nuggets of her nipples. Next time?

Next time.

She really did like the sound of that, a job with benefits.

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About vanillamom

For over 8 years--(EIGHT?!) nilla and M have been a D/s couple. I'm the "small s" side of that designation, as he often reminds me. I'm silly and prone to giggling at inopportune times. He's a wicked Sadist, who feeds me my drug of choice--pain. My brain is always spinning dirty and dark little fantasies, which I sometimes share with the world. Welcome to the nilla-verse. It's wet and slippery here...with a dragon or two lurking.